everything is a punch to the gut
it hurts enough to feel it
but not until you're already down on the floor,
lying on the cold and unforgiving stone that you have to stand upon
clutching whatever it is, that wants to spill out of your chest
dark and boiling
hurting and trashing and yelling,
like a feral animal on a dark country road
like the thing you want to surpress in every waking moment
because it will snap that one last straw,
that keeps you tied to all of this
clouds are blurry
are they meant to?
i suppose so
i wouldn't know what else for them to be
maybe a deep dark green,
over hushed whites?
a promise of winter
not quite committing,
drenched air
with lighthearted bliss
the peaceful contrast to the turmoil that is myself
...
...
you could leave everything behind,
right?
...
if you reach just a little further?
what is it you can't let go of?
what makes you come back again and again and again
clinging so painfully
pulling you in
it hurts to leave and it hurts to stay
so i search for words to describe the world around me
i look up words to use them
or else i stand there
taken aback
pushed over by the sheer force of it:
you're in wrong territory
get out
if penguins could fly
they would
we know this
there's nothing more beautiful and heartbreaking than realisation
we know this, too
there is no way around it
but
i just don't want to hate the world im living in
